i’m like so totally awesome yea yea yea ye yeay yayeae why am i so awesome??? i have awards for it too. i got trolled last night, you know why? ‘casue i’m freaking awesome!!! OMGGGGGG!
on the bridge there was a zebra watching the water and all of a sudden a butterfly came and swooped down and landed on the zebra and asked for a ride as his wings were tired and he could not fly any more.
byl lekko wygiety takim lagosnym lukiem, ktory nadawal my czlowieczy moze zwierzecy wyraz wiatr wspinal sie na niego lagodnie zeby z hukiem stoczyc sie jak pogorskim zboczu w kierunku jeziora
I’m nearing the edge of this bridge. I’ll call it “College.” The bridge was comfortably suspended between two solid realities. I feel like the one at the front. I squeeze my backpack straps until the person behind me gives me a little shove and my toe starts to brush the grass right before I feel this new adventure underfoot —
like a bridge over troubled waters, bridges remind me of my father’s story about a construction worker died in cement, the man, an urban legend I read many years later. Okay, what more shall I say, I need to think to remember the details of the story.
My sophomore math teacher was obsessed with bridges. It really opened my eyes to bridges, where before I just saw them as a thing to move us from one side to the other. they are really cool, and actually do have LOTS to do with math. As weird as it sounds, im glad she showed us!
I’ve burned every bridge I can think of. I never thought I was a self destructive person but apprently I am. It’s my own damn fault. I get into my head and I worry and stress and freak myself out. I’m my own worst judge. And those thoughts I tell myself in the dark of the night when I’m feeling my worst, those are the thoughts I believe in the day time when I want to be my best. That’s the reason I ruin everything I touch. I’m the anti-Midas.
The spring water trickled across the smooth, shiny rocks and danced among the moss. The footpath created a bridge above the water play, where I stood and pondered it all as the hours passed.
The bridge between the worlds is only open at certain times. The trouble is, you never know beforehand what times those will be. Maybe it will open only once in your lifetime. You must always be ready to travel at a moment’s notice to keep from missing your real life.
Finally unabridged thinking. Drawn out across a moat of abysmal sinking into a depression of diluted understandings and handing over pride stretched out and dried up from the season of stun.
I love bridges. They allow you to explore more of the world and understand for all of its worth. The bridges of the world should really be paid a lot more money, and they are falling and everything? A fallen bridge has much in common with a closed door. One must strive to become better and cross every bridge they encounter.
so many words fall onto the page. making their own bridge from one sentence to the next. one sentence to the next. soon it becomes a paragraph. then a page. the bridge only stops when you want it to. so build the longest bridge in the world. :)
It is a high, long structure built to connect a chasm vast and wide steep; sometimes a body of water, roads, land forms or even connections with other people. It can be as simple as a stump of tree across a river or our personal connection with other. We sometimes build it, but more often than not, we burn it.
I wanted to jump, I really did. But every time I came close I stood at the edge and I asked myself “Who will remember you?” and the answer every time was “No one.” and I never jumped. I wanted to. I really did.
“I thought the bridge to hell would be more…” Ayla trails off. “Impressive?” Nick fills in. Ayla nods. “Yeah, this is kind of a let down.” Nick cocks his gun. “Whatever, let’s go save Adam…and, you know, everyone else or whatever.”
The bridge collapsed. There was nothing I could do about it. It just fell out from under her. And all I could do was watch as she fell into the water below, and pray that she would survive. I hate myself now. I just stood there. But what else could I have done?
Relationships are the bridges that bring to hearts together. I don’t know if you realize, but our bridge is burning. And you? You’ve turned your back on the glowing flames as I stare from the other side, in horror as everything I’ve worked so hard on goes up in smoke.
In the mornings, I walk around my neighborhood till I reach this bridge. It’s gray, and made of stones, like many bridges out there. I sit down and think about things when I get there. There’s something about that bridge that really clears my mind.
When you stare at something for too long, you experience a couple different things. You may feel like you are getting closer to it. If it is small, it may seem like it is moving in circles like thinking a little black speck on the floor is an ant. In other cases, you may feel like you are moving further away from it. I guess it depends on what it is you’re looking at and the position you are in. For instance, when you are standing over a river, you feel as if you are the one moving and not the water. The tranquility of the waves and ripples will hypnotize you into a sweet serenity. The sound of the water soothes your mind. All I can do, is hold on and hope I don’t get pushed off into the current. Some days, however, I feel the opposite.
Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go.
It’s about connections–land masses to land masses. People to people. Ornate are my favorite. Baroque styling-breathtaking. Old steel rail bridges. Nostalgia.
One day I was on a bridge, when there was a hefty accident that resembled a stream of other incidents. Soon after, everyone died in a specific order. Do you see how terrible this is? My soul would cry, and it could, especially as I am dead now. Along with everyone else.
Tears. Cry. Le sads. Baw.
My soul
The bridge hadn’t changed much since the last time he was here. The metal had rusted more and more of the green paint had chipped off the railing. But other than these aesthetic differences, nothing had changed. But he had changed. He had come to this bridge over a year ago, adamant that he was going to go over. He was prepared for the impact and for the world to simply end. But then she walked by, earbuds in and looked him in the eye for only a second. She knew the signs, what he was planning to do, so she pleaded with him silently not to go through with it. “No,” she mouthed as she shook her head. And like that, he abandoned all thoughts and notions of jumping off that bridge. All because of that one stranger.
Flat, short, and sturdy to cross shallow muddy water. Covered, with wooden walls of red and a faded roof, enclosing you snugly over a river. Weathered and rickety, dangerously swinging over far-down rapids. Tall, concrete and icily metallic, looming impressively over a deep bay. So many kinds of bridges to reach across places, and so many kinds of water to cross.
The bridge collapse as cars drove over the river as fishes swim across the ocean. Final Fantasy 5 on TV and that is what came to mind. Spoiler alert: everybody dies.
i’m like so totally awesome yea yea yea ye yeay yayeae why am i so awesome??? i have awards for it too. i got trolled last night, you know why? ‘casue i’m freaking awesome!!! OMGGGGGG!
a crossing of a formerly untraversable divide, in practical terms often a triumph of engineering and ingenuity
metaphorically speaking, lets construct as many bridges across divides as we can
on the bridge there was a zebra watching the water and all of a sudden a butterfly came and swooped down and landed on the zebra and asked for a ride as his wings were tired and he could not fly any more.
It was the bridge…where everything started for them… Both love and hate…. It was the bridge where they met.
byl lekko wygiety takim lagosnym lukiem, ktory nadawal my czlowieczy moze zwierzecy wyraz wiatr wspinal sie na niego lagodnie zeby z hukiem stoczyc sie jak pogorskim zboczu w kierunku jeziora
I’m nearing the edge of this bridge. I’ll call it “College.” The bridge was comfortably suspended between two solid realities. I feel like the one at the front. I squeeze my backpack straps until the person behind me gives me a little shove and my toe starts to brush the grass right before I feel this new adventure underfoot —
i burned many and built many, but coming to think of it, i only dared to cross one.
The bridge between the past and the present is now turning a new leap. Time fr me to cross over.
like a bridge over troubled waters, bridges remind me of my father’s story about a construction worker died in cement, the man, an urban legend I read many years later. Okay, what more shall I say, I need to think to remember the details of the story.
My sophomore math teacher was obsessed with bridges. It really opened my eyes to bridges, where before I just saw them as a thing to move us from one side to the other. they are really cool, and actually do have LOTS to do with math. As weird as it sounds, im glad she showed us!
I’ve burned every bridge I can think of. I never thought I was a self destructive person but apprently I am. It’s my own damn fault. I get into my head and I worry and stress and freak myself out. I’m my own worst judge. And those thoughts I tell myself in the dark of the night when I’m feeling my worst, those are the thoughts I believe in the day time when I want to be my best. That’s the reason I ruin everything I touch. I’m the anti-Midas.
The spring water trickled across the smooth, shiny rocks and danced among the moss. The footpath created a bridge above the water play, where I stood and pondered it all as the hours passed.
The bridge between the worlds is only open at certain times. The trouble is, you never know beforehand what times those will be. Maybe it will open only once in your lifetime. You must always be ready to travel at a moment’s notice to keep from missing your real life.
Finally unabridged thinking. Drawn out across a moat of abysmal sinking into a depression of diluted understandings and handing over pride stretched out and dried up from the season of stun.
ggghhhhhhhhhhpppppp.
The sound of drowning is not a beautiful sound.
It’s ironic when you think about it, because so many aspects of water are beautiful.
There is such a thing as too much of a good thing.
I love bridges. They allow you to explore more of the world and understand for all of its worth. The bridges of the world should really be paid a lot more money, and they are falling and everything? A fallen bridge has much in common with a closed door. One must strive to become better and cross every bridge they encounter.
so many words fall onto the page. making their own bridge from one sentence to the next. one sentence to the next. soon it becomes a paragraph. then a page. the bridge only stops when you want it to. so build the longest bridge in the world. :)
It is a high, long structure built to connect a chasm vast and wide steep; sometimes a body of water, roads, land forms or even connections with other people. It can be as simple as a stump of tree across a river or our personal connection with other. We sometimes build it, but more often than not, we burn it.
I wanted to jump, I really did. But every time I came close I stood at the edge and I asked myself “Who will remember you?” and the answer every time was “No one.” and I never jumped. I wanted to. I really did.
people should build bridges instead of walls.
i’d like to build a bridge
between who i was
and who i am now
but some things
are better left
alone
it’s all just water
underneath
not necessarily structural; kind words perhaps, possibly a gesture between two people that can close the chasm
path across an obstacle. connect two sides. an engineering wonder. metal. wooden. covered. railroad, car, people, foot. artery out of city.
“I thought the bridge to hell would be more…” Ayla trails off. “Impressive?” Nick fills in. Ayla nods. “Yeah, this is kind of a let down.” Nick cocks his gun. “Whatever, let’s go save Adam…and, you know, everyone else or whatever.”
The bridge collapsed. There was nothing I could do about it. It just fell out from under her. And all I could do was watch as she fell into the water below, and pray that she would survive. I hate myself now. I just stood there. But what else could I have done?
Bridge to nowhere. Bridge to anywhere. Bridge were there used to be real teeth. Words are bridges. London Bridge.
Relationships are the bridges that bring to hearts together. I don’t know if you realize, but our bridge is burning. And you? You’ve turned your back on the glowing flames as I stare from the other side, in horror as everything I’ve worked so hard on goes up in smoke.
In the mornings, I walk around my neighborhood till I reach this bridge. It’s gray, and made of stones, like many bridges out there. I sit down and think about things when I get there. There’s something about that bridge that really clears my mind.
When you stare at something for too long, you experience a couple different things. You may feel like you are getting closer to it. If it is small, it may seem like it is moving in circles like thinking a little black speck on the floor is an ant. In other cases, you may feel like you are moving further away from it. I guess it depends on what it is you’re looking at and the position you are in. For instance, when you are standing over a river, you feel as if you are the one moving and not the water. The tranquility of the waves and ripples will hypnotize you into a sweet serenity. The sound of the water soothes your mind. All I can do, is hold on and hope I don’t get pushed off into the current. Some days, however, I feel the opposite.
to nowhere. Connects two ideas, thoughts, places. Game. Game for old people. Architecturally beautiful, or functionally plain.
Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go.
It’s about connections–land masses to land masses. People to people. Ornate are my favorite. Baroque styling-breathtaking. Old steel rail bridges. Nostalgia.
To bridge the gap between my inability to write poetry would be great. :p
One day I was on a bridge, when there was a hefty accident that resembled a stream of other incidents. Soon after, everyone died in a specific order. Do you see how terrible this is? My soul would cry, and it could, especially as I am dead now. Along with everyone else.
Tears. Cry. Le sads. Baw.
My soul
The bridge hadn’t changed much since the last time he was here. The metal had rusted more and more of the green paint had chipped off the railing. But other than these aesthetic differences, nothing had changed. But he had changed. He had come to this bridge over a year ago, adamant that he was going to go over. He was prepared for the impact and for the world to simply end. But then she walked by, earbuds in and looked him in the eye for only a second. She knew the signs, what he was planning to do, so she pleaded with him silently not to go through with it. “No,” she mouthed as she shook her head. And like that, he abandoned all thoughts and notions of jumping off that bridge. All because of that one stranger.
Flat, short, and sturdy to cross shallow muddy water. Covered, with wooden walls of red and a faded roof, enclosing you snugly over a river. Weathered and rickety, dangerously swinging over far-down rapids. Tall, concrete and icily metallic, looming impressively over a deep bay. So many kinds of bridges to reach across places, and so many kinds of water to cross.
The bridge collapse as cars drove over the river as fishes swim across the ocean. Final Fantasy 5 on TV and that is what came to mind. Spoiler alert: everybody dies.
The bridge was taut, beautiful in every way. The windows to her soul, the agonizingly long expanse of road. Crestfallen she stood, time flying her by.
I draw a curved line on the paper, connecting my ideas and his.
“Look, I know it was hard getting here, but honey, you can do this.”
I smiled at the small boy, and he crooked his neck up and met my stare. I almost burst out laughing. I finally broke through. Finally.
facing the music
staring over the edge;
my paths lead no other direction.
the bridges we burn… the bridges I’ve burned. I look back at piles of ash and not a pillar standing. I always stop to think what if?